


Felt Like Coming Home

by herlittleteacup



Category: to have and have not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 13:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2230407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herlittleteacup/pseuds/herlittleteacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coping with Betty's death in 400 words or less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Felt Like Coming Home

He is sitting at a dark wooden table with an empty chair across from him and his hat laid to the side. There's an ornate crystal glass in his hand that he swirls watching the amber whiskey splash almost majestically inside. His other hand houses a crisp cigarette that he takes a long, smooth drag of. The room is so silent you can hear the whispers of the searing tobacco as it crackles and sizzles at his breath. His exhale is of a slow, fluid manner that mirrors the dapper demeanor he exudes in every way. His body is haunched over the table and his eyes cast down, he is waiting for something but not searching in the vastness for it. 

She enters a hall of mirrors that reflect the whiteness surrounding her in a warm bath of glowing light. A hushed gasp escapes her lips when her eyes focus on her reflection. The gray hair she had come to embrace in recent years was somehow replaced with a headful of the bouncing, golden pin curls she had adorned herself with in her youth. The wrinkles and spots that had found their home on her skin in the later years of her life were gone too, replaced with soft alabaster from head to heels. She had always been fond of the lines on her face, for her they had symbolized her belief in growing old gracefully, but she had to admit silently to herself that being in the body of her prime felt like coming home again.

The room is so thick with white puffs of smoke that hang there without moving that it is impossible to even see the golden door handle as it turns. The only sound to break the silence is the cracking of the doorjamb. She steps one foot through the door hesitantly and her heavy wooden heel hits the ground with a soft echo. He lifts his head up when the sounds carry to his ears, and his shoulders drop with the release of anticipation. She still stands behind him, squinting through the fogginess, somehow managing to pick up on the smile that had scaled his face at the sound of her entrance. He doesn't turn around to greet her, instead he just whispers "I've been waiting for you, Baby..." A single tears drops down her cheek when she replies, 

"I heard your whistle."


End file.
